Abomination
by SecretlyValerie
Summary: The Abomination survived the fight in New York, but is anything left of Emil Blonsky?
1. Chapter 1

**Part One: The Pit**

_A secure location one hour outside Washington, DC_

Defeat.

Emil was familiar, sickeningly familiar, with the feeling. Sometimes he thought that defeat and triumph were the only feelings that really existed, with all others being only pale shadows of those two. He had thought that after exposing himself to radiation, turning himself into this _thing_, he would never have to feel defeat again. He was wrong.

All the rage and determination and-yes, he could admit it now-insanity that he'd been feeling since that first injection had leaked out of him. There was only defeat.

They picked him up with tethers dangling under a helicopter, like he was a fucking beached whale or something. He could have stopped them. He could have killed every damn one of them. But why bother? It wouldn't change anything.

The Hulk won. He lost. Swatting flies wouldn't change that.

They already had a place to put him. (It had been meant for the Hulk, of course. He was just a consolation prize. Second best.) It was a cylindrical room with walls and floor of sheer bedrock. Above him, far out of reach, was a giant, whirling fan. He assumed that they could pump in whatever kind of gas they wanted, to keep him quiet.

It wasn't a bad design. It wouldn't have held the Hulk, though, he felt certain. Not for long.

Right now, a room made of tissue paper would have held the Abomination. That was what they'd decided to call him, apparently. He assumed that the official story was that Emil Blonsky was dead. They would have had to look pretty hard to find a next of kin to inform. His aunt had probably gotten the call. Maybe she'd taken a moment for quiet reflection before moving on with her life.

Days passed...probably. They hadn't given him a clock. He sat passively on the floor of his stone cylinder, allowing technicians to poke and prod him ineffectively. They probably wanted a fluid sample, but there was no way to get one. Eventually, one nervous technician even tried to put a needle into his eye, probably hoping it would provide less resistance than his skin. The needle slid off. It wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't painful, either. His corneas were as close to invulnerable as everything else.

That is, not close enough.

They left him alone for a while after that. They'd presented him with food and water, but he'd ignored it. What he really wanted was a beer, but he was probably immune to alcohol now, too.

Eventually, the general showed up in person. The first words out of his mouth were "On your feet, soldier."

Well. Why not. Had to give the man some credit for barking orders at someone who could have turned him into jelly. And he was still a superior officer. Emil lumbered to his feet. There was none of the pain that should have come with holding one position for...however long it had been.

"Report, Blonsky."

"Sir. Acting without orders or authorization, I coerced Dr. Sterns into exposing me to Banner's blood and to gamma radiation." His voice sounded unfamiliar. Alien, even. "I then attempted to engage Banner. His strength appears to vary with the level of emotion he experiences. For this reason, I advise against direct confrontation in the future." _He will always win._

"Why did you do it?"

He was silent.

"I asked you a question, soldier!"

"Underlying mental instability exacerbated by so-called 'super soldier' serum."

"You killed civilians, Blonsky. American civilians."

"Yes, sir."

"You tried to kill me. And my daughter."

"Yes, sir."

"But you aren't killing me now. And you didn't kill the technicians. Why?"

"If you're the most powerful, the rules don't apply to you. If you're not, they do."

"That's some fucked-up logic, Blonsky."

"Yes, sir."

"Can you change back?"

"Haven't tried, sir."

"Try."

Emil closed his eyes. He wasn't entirely certain how to try. He thought about shrinking, going back to his old shape, his old face, his old skin...

"Today, Blonsky," the general snapped, and without knowing how, he did it.

When he opened his eyes, he was looking slightly up at the general, not down. The stone floor felt cold against his bare feet.

"Good man," the general said crisply. "Right, we'll get the technicians back in here to take some samples. Can't let you out, I'm sure you understand, but we can get some furniture in here. The suits wanted to send down a head-shrinker. I told them to let me give it a crack first, but if you want one now…?"

"No, sir."

"Right." He clapped his hands together crisply. "Do what you're told, don't kill anyone, and we'll see about getting you some privileges. Better food, a TV, the works."

"Don't suppose the US Army would get me a beer and a woman." That was what he needed, not some damn psychologist.

"Beer for sure. I'll see what I can do about the other."

"Thank you, sir."

The general clapped him on the shoulder, and he actually felt it.

"General," Emil called, as the general turned to climb back up the rope ladder. "If they do send me a shrink, I'll kill him."

The general nodded once, then climbed out of the hole.

* * *

The tests seemed neverending. Blood samples, stool samples, bone marrow. Before and after running on a treadmill, before and after changing forms. How quickly could he change forms (at least a few times an hour). Were there circumstances under which he would change involuntarily (yes, any injury bad enough to send him into shock-that had not been a fun test.)

Every time they did a test, they would give him something. Before long, his cylinder looked more like a cramped apartment than a modernized dungeon. Pipes too fragile for him to climb in his true form snaked up the wall, providing plumbing for a modest WC. He had a bed, a couch, a small television with a DVD player, a mini-fridge. They'd given him beer and, when that proved ineffective, hard liquor, but it didn't do anything for him. Neither did the painkillers they tried on him later, even at a dosage that should have killed a man twice his size.

It was hard to sleep at night. He wasn't used to sleeping completely sober, without even the exhaustion of waning adrenaline after a day of action.

He hadn't wanted to get to know the technicians who spent so much time poking at him, but they were his only human contact. They wouldn't tell him their names or call him by his. His favorite technician was the one who had been brave enough to try to jab a needle in the Abomination's eye. Emil called him Doc. He called Emil A. The rest of them just called him sir.

As time passed, the tests became more and more esoteric. Testing his resistance to different poisons. Samples of his sweat, bile, and even semen. At least for that one they gave him a porn DVD and a cup and left it to him; he'd been worried they'd do it with a cattle prod up the bum, or something.

"What's the word, Doc?" he asked when five technicians returned the next day. "How're my abominable little swimmers doing?"

"Not great, A," Doc admitted. "Looks like you're infertile."

"Oh, what a bloody shame. And here I was thinking what a great place this would be to raise a family." He gestured at his cell around them.

"On the bright side, we did find out that it's not radioactive enough to be seriously dangerous, unlike your blood."

"Well. Nonfatal spunk. What more could a man ask for. What've you brought me this time?"

"They want us to start testing your mental capabilities, to see whether those have changed." Doc pulled out a folder full of papers. "IQ test, personality test-"

"I hate tests," he snapped.

"Sorry, A. The boys upstairs say you're taking tests now."

"What's my bribe today?"

"Got you a couple more DVDs and some chocolate bars."

"Chocolate bars." He felt an echo of the cold rage from the first few days after he'd gotten the serum injections. "Bloody chocolate bars."

Doc's face changed into a professional mask. He was afraid. Emil liked that.

"There's a limit to how much they can do for you. Is there something else you'd like instead?"

"Yes," he growled. "I asked for a woman."

"They can't-"

"Can't? Can't? You mean the same way they can't shoot me full of experimental drugs, declare me dead, and keep me here indefinitely?"

"Please calm down-"

"Oh, I'm calm," Emil said. He was still and cold like a mountain on the verge of an avalanche. "I'm perfectly bloody calm. But that won't do you any good, because I'm not Bruce bloody Banner."

He changed.

When the change had finished, two of the technicians were already scrambling up the rope ladder. He grabbed it with one hand and yanked, whirled, sent both of them smashing into the wall with the _crunch_ of breaking bones.

Doc was still standing on the ground, masking his fear, trying to talk the Abomination down.

"I respect your courage, little man," Emil said. "You get to live."

The other two he crushed, snapping their spines, savoring their screams.

His handlers, above, were just watching. They knew that there was nothing they could do. If he tried to escape, if it looked like he'd make it, they would probably blow up the whole place. Until then, their safest move was to appease him.

He liked that.

He changed back, nude and covered in blood.

"No tests today," he told Doc flatly. "Get someone to clean this place up. After that, the next person I see climb down that ladder I'm either killing or fucking. Got it?"

"Got it," Doc whispered.

Emil walked away from the terrified man and took a long, hot shower.


	2. Chapter 2

Emil was entirely alone for a few days after that. It was, he had to admit, lonely as hell. He didn't exactly regret killing those technicians, but it turned out that solitary confinement was actually worse than taking tests. Even a chocolate bar would have been a nice change from the bland meals they lowered down to him.

"It's not that I dislike chocolate," he commented to one of the more obvious cameras. "It's just a bit weak as a bribe, don't you think? Chocolate bars and a few DVDs, when I'm probably never going to see the sky again."

He wondered who was on the other end of it. Probably that shrink he'd told the general he'd kill.

"I'd prefer someone with big tits, but it's not a must," he added.

He wondered what was going on above his head. Were they waiting for him to break down and take back his threat? Were they trying to talk someone with the appropriate security clearance into lying back and thinking of America?

He found that he didn't actually like that idea much. Better if they found him a whore and then got her a security clearance. He didn't particularly like to imagine forcing himself on someone's terrified attache.

The idea bothered him a lot, actually. More than thinking of the people he'd killed. Killing was part of being a soldier, but rape...well, historically, maybe, but it had never been for him. He'd run a good, clean unit, too. His boys kept their hands to themselves or they were out.

He would look weak if he tried to clarify that now. He decided to wait and see who they sent him.

How would he look if they sent him someone and he sent her back unfucked? He smiled to himself. He would look like he was a better person than they were, that was what. That should really drive them nuts. And as long as they sent him someone, they were giving in to his demand. Acknowledging his power. He could afford to be magnanimous.

He'd definitely prefer not to have to do that, though. He wanted to be touched by someone who wasn't holding a syringe and a clipboard.

It felt like forever, but he really only went a little more than a week without any human contact. He was sitting in front of the telly in sweatpants and a t-shirt when he heard the fan turn off and Doc's voice filter down.

"A? We're sending someone down. Like you asked."

He jumped to his feet, suddenly feeling absurdly nervous. He'd showered recently, but he didn't have a mirror down in his cave. He knew that his face was covered in stubble, his hair was long and unruly, and...god, did he still look like he had after that last injection but before the radiation? Like a bony corpse?

He got his hair into what felt like some semblance of order, then turned to examine the woman who was currently descending the ladder. She was having some trouble with it, which was sort of reassuring; she wasn't military. He couldn't see much from his position other than a big, round ass in tight jeans.

That was promising.

When she got to the bottom of the ladder, she approached him with a nervous smile and held out her hand.

"Hi. I'm Valerie. They, uh, wouldn't tell me your name. What should I call you?"

"Call me Emil," he said, shaking her hand. She was cute and busty, about his height and a bit on the chubby side, with short brown hair and dark brown eyes behind businesslike glasses. Her low-cut shirt was much less businesslike, though. "Pleased to meet you."

"They didn't tell me you were British, either," she said, her smile becoming slightly more stable. It was a nice smile. He could imagine all sorts of better uses for that mouth, but the smile was a good start.

"What did they tell you?" he asked, releasing her hand and moving back to sit on the couch.

"Not a lot," she said, sitting beside him. "They said I'm only supposed to stay for an hour, but that I can come back for another hour tonight if you take some sort of test first. And they said that there are cameras that'll be watching us the whole time."

He nodded. "Anything about me?"

"You're dangerous, but you have no history of intimate partner violence. You have no STDs, but I'll have to take anti-radiation drugs each time I see you. You like big boobs." The corner of her mouth curved up into a smile.

"They told you that?" he asked, laughing. This was the most personable conversation he'd had in months. He hadn't realized how good it would feel. "Or did you ask?"

"I asked about the intimate partner violence and whether they knew anything about your preferences." She chuckled. "I thought that stiff-necked military guy was going to die when he had to tell me you 'prefer large breasts.' They also said that you're stronger than you look, and you could hurt me accidentally, but probably not badly. I don't mind a little pain."

"Did they tell you why I'm in here?" She didn't mind a little pain. That was good. He'd always been a fan of the rough stuff, and with his new strength, that could get extreme.

"I assume it has something to do with why I need to take anti-radiation drugs," she said, her smile fading.

"Something," he agreed. "And you're feeling alright with this?"

"Yes, I am," she said, looking into his eyes seriously. "I appreciate you asking."

"Well, then come sit on my lap, darlin'," he said with a grin, patting his thigh.

She smiled and raised an eyebrow, then turned on the couch, sliding one of her legs over his until she was straddling him.

"Like this?" she asked, reaching a hand up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. The heat of her fingers, her solid weight on his legs, felt more real than anything had since that first injection.

"That's about what I had in mind," he agreed. "But that can't be comfortable in jeans. Get up and strip for me, lovely."

She stood up and glanced nervously at the ceiling. They both knew there were people watching, although he knew it was more likely that they were peering through the camera in the base of the telly.

"Ignore them," he told her. "Just you and me here."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, she gave him a seductive smile that sent bolts of electricity through his nerves. He needed this. He needed her.

Some time later, Emil collapsed against Valerie on the bed, spasming erratically as he returned to lucidity. She stroked his back and the back of his head soothingly.

"Good God," he murmured, his lips still pressed against her neck.

"You're telling me," she said, kissing his temple. "Can you let me move my legs, please?"

He rolled off her. With a twinge of guilt, he took in the red marks on her shoulders and wrists and the way she winced when she moved her legs down to a more natural position.

"That was incredible," she said with a happy sigh. She nestled against him like it was the most natural thing in the world, and he gathered her into his arms, pressing his face into her hair. Her softness welcomed him.

"You have a clock down here?" she murmured. "They told me they want me back up top by 1400." She emphasized the military time like it was a novelty.

"Yeah," he said, craning his neck to get a look. "Looks like it's 1340." He tightened his arms around her. Twenty minutes was too short a time.

"Will you want me to come back tonight, if you finish your tests?"

"Yes." He immediately wished he'd tried to feign indifference. They were listening, they would have heard his automatic eagerness. The first truly friendly face he'd seen and the first non-intrusive touch he'd felt in months. The first woman he'd been with in even longer. She was his weak point now. They could threaten to take her away from him.

They could threaten to tell her what he really was, and then send her back to him, scared and unwilling.

"You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, do you?" he asked.

"Other than amazing sex? Not really," she admitted. "But they're paying me a boatload of money."

"Good. You earned it."

She kissed him gently on the lips.


	3. Chapter 3

Emil hadn't realized how unbearably lonely his imprisonment was before he had anything to compare it to. Now, Valerie's visits broke up the solitude. One hour a day, four or five times a week. Just enough time for them to have the most urgent, passionate sex of his life, and then just start a comfortable conversation. She always had to leave before they got far.

A few times, he considered skipping the sex the next time he saw her, so that they would have some time to just talk. He needed it too much, though. And he didn't want the boys upstairs to guess that he had feelings for her beyond simple lust.

That part of it was a little embarrassing. He could see, objectively, that he'd been so starved for human contact that he would have developed strong feelings for just about anybody who'd climbed down that ladder and into his bed. Valerie was special, though. She was sweet and kind, all soft touches and gentle kisses, and she so obviously loved everything he did to her.

She offered him a backrub one day, while they were floating in a postcoital haze.

"I'm studying massage therapy," she told him. "And you seem like you could use some relaxation."

Emil rolled over wordlessly. He knew that his spine was a jagged line of bony knobs, protruding so far that they almost broke through the skin. He could hear Valerie breathe in sharply when she saw it-she wasn't behind him very often-but she ran comforting hands along his back.

"Your physiology is a little bit different," she said matter-of-factly. "Some of your muscles don't seem to be quite where I'd expect them to be. Let me know if I do anything that feels uncomfortable or painful, okay?"

"Yes," he said, his voice muffled by the pillow. His heart ached with gratitude. She hadn't avoided the issue or made a big deal of it. She just spoke and acted compassionately.

Her hands were soft and firm, smoothing out the tension he hadn't realized was in his neck and shoulders. She ran them along his spine, carefully at first, then more confidently, working her thumbs into the hollows between knobs.

"How does that feel?" she asked.

"Heavenly," he admitted. He felt her shift positions, bending to place careful kisses along his back.

When their time was almost up, he walked her to the base of the ladder. Valerie hugged him close, resting her head on his shoulder.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to," she whispered in his ear. "But if you want to talk about anything, I'm here."

He pulled back and looked into her eyes, trying to convey his gratitude with his expression alone, then kissed her deeply.

He couldn't actually tell her his story, of course, he reflected as he watched her climb out of his hole. There was no real way to gloss over the part where he wrecked Harlem and killed...he actually had no idea how many he'd killed. That hadn't bothered him until now.

It was good of her to offer, though.

* * *

The rage resurfaced unexpectedly a few weeks after that. He'd been down in the hole for six months at that point. His restlessness had increased to the point that he only slept on nights when he'd seen Valerie that day. Other nights he spent pacing his confines, feeling like a zoo animal.

"Spinal fluid sample day," Doc announced after one sleepless night. "Your favorite."

"I want two hours with Valerie," he snarled. "At least."

Doc backed up, and the other two technicians edged towards the ladder. Emil felt a cold pleasure from their fear, starting right at his diaphragm and moving into his chest.

"Valerie called last night and said she can't come today," Doc said cautiously. "She's sick."

"Sick," he repeated tonelessly. The coldness filled his chest and stomach, spreading out to his limbs.

"We can postpone spinal day," Doc said hastily. "Just let all three of us up that ladder and you can have three hours with her as soon as she's better. Okay, A?"

"I didn't know you had the authority to make that kind of call."

"I'm sure they'll approve it." Doc nodded to the others, who began to scramble up the ladder.

"I don't know why I didn't see it before," Emil said. Everything felt very clear and crisp.

"See what?"

"You're not just a technician. You're a bloody shrink. Admit it."

"A-"

"Admit it or I'll take your fucking head off right now."

Doc hesitated, then nodded.

"You know what I told the General I'd do if they sent a shrink?"

"That's why I didn't tell you," Doc said. "But we needed to monitor your mental state, A. It's just as important as your physical state."

"What's my mental state right now?"

"Murderous," Doc admitted quietly.

"Got it in one. How would you like to die, Doc?" The cold was all the way out to his fingertips and down to his toes now. He'd felt like this when he threatened Sterns into irradiating him. When he'd wrecked a nice chunk of New York.

"Valerie wouldn't want you to kill me."

"You think I give a fuck?"

"I know you do."

The two stared at each other for a long moment. Then Emil started to change.

If Doc had tried to run, it would have been the last thing he ever did. But he just backed up a few feet, giving Emil enough room to grow. To expand.

He grabbed Doc by the collar and picked him up, holding him above his head.

"Still trying to be brave?" he asked sneeringly. Doc didn't answer. He tossed the smaller man at the ceiling, trying to look careless, but actually ensuring that he would hit the ladder near the top. He didn't check to see whether he made it, but there was no splat.

The coldness had expanded with him, filling his entire gargantuan body. He methodically destroyed every piece of furniture in the room. The telly made a particularly satisfying smash.

He hesitated slightly before destroying the bed, remembering all the time he'd spent there with Valerie, but they had to know that they couldn't control him. It ended up matchsticks, like everything else. He ripped the sheets to shreds, tore his clothes, smashed every lightbulb and especially every camera, wrenched the plumbing from the walls. Nothing warmed him.

Hours later-or so he thought; he'd destroyed the clock-he was in his smaller form again, sitting naked amid the ruins of his prison. His freezing rage was finally ebbing him away, leaving him with the more mundane cold of sitting naked on a stone floor underground.

Above him, he heard a faint voice. "Emil? Is it okay if I come down?"

Valerie. They'd gone and gotten her.

"Yes," he called up. "It's alright."

He could see a spot of light descending the ladder. As she got closer, it resolved into a clip-on light attached to the collar of her shirt. She was wearing a t-shirt and cargo shorts today, not the more flattering clothes he usually saw her in, and her hair was a mess.

"Where are you?" she called when she got to the bottom.

"Over here, darlin'. Watch your step."

She carefully picked her way towards him through the wreckage. "I've got strep throat," she said, "So you probably don't want to kiss me."

"I always want to kiss you." He was probably immune to most diseases anyway. Most bacteria don't like being irradiated.

"Well, don't say I didn't warn you. Informed consent, and all. Whoops!" She almost tripped over a piece of PVC pipe, but caught herself.

"Did they tell you what happened?" he asked.

"They told me not to ask." Her voice had a note of anxiety. He wasn't sure whether she was worried about him, or scared of him.

"You shouldn't listen to them."

"Well, you can tell me if you want."

He found that he didn't actually want to. He'd rather she be scared for him than of him, even if he didn't deserve it.

When she got to him, she raised a hand to her mouth, looking concerned. Well, he was sitting naked amid the rubble of everything he owned, so that made sense.

"I'm alright," he said. "Come here." It came out as more of a command than he had intended. He needed to feel her.

She was warm, so warm. Hot, actually. At first he thought it was the contrast, but then he realized that she felt too warm. He tilted her head towards him and saw that her face was pale and her eyes were glassy.

"Oh, darlin'. You have a fever."

"Yeah. I took some advil. And I'm on antibiotics, so it should go away soon. Have I told you I love how you say dah-lin?"

"You shouldn't be sitting in the cold with me."

She shrugged. "They told me it was an emergency. Showed up at my apartment and demanded that I get in the car, actually. But they gave me a pretty sizeable pile of cash, too."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I'm glad I could be here for you." She nestled in close to him, shivering. "And it's just strep throat. I get it a lot."

"You're cold. I'm sorry, none of my blankets made it."

"That's okay. You're warming me up."

He pressed his cold lips to her too-hot forehead and didn't answer.

"Hey, Emil?" she said quietly.

"Yes, dahhhhlin'?" he responded, playing up his accent. He'd hoped to make her laugh, but she didn't respond.

"Did you know that they ask me to report on you, every time I see you?" There was an edge of nervousness in her voice.

He sighed. "I hadn't thought about it, but I'm not surprised. They're always watching, anyway."

"Do you want me to stop telling them things?"

"What do they usually ask?"

"How would I describe your emotional state. How would I describe your feelings towards me. Did you cause me any pain, and if so, was it intentional. Did you seem to be in any pain yourself. That kind of thing."

He could picture it, Valerie being interrogated by a bunch of military stuffed shirts. Maybe even the General, asking her to describe Emil's feelings for her, his lip curling up on the word 'feelings.'

"What do you say?" he asked.

"I tell them you seem bored and restless. You seem to be pretty fond of me…" she glanced at him as though looking for confirmation "...and you definitely enjoy the sex. You've never seemed like you're physically in pain to me, and I don't think you've ever intentionally done anything to me that I didn't like."

"That's not so bad."

"A few times they've asked me what you or I said at particular times when they couldn't hear us. I told them, the first couple times, but after that, I started saying it was private."

"And they just let it go?" he asked, skeptical.

"They offered me more money. I turned it down. They saw I was serious after that."

"They're not the types to let things go," he said.

"No, they aren't. But they're afraid of you, aren't they?"

He didn't answer.

"I'm not stupid, you know," she said.

"I never thought you were." The fever was sure making her talkative.

"I don't ask you things, because I don't want to be rude, but I can put things together. You're the one who did this, right?" She indicated their wrecked surroundings. "You, or something inside of you."

"A little bit of both," he acknowledged.

"They're using me to control you."

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

He laughed bitterly. "You shouldn't be. You don't know what I'd be doing if they weren't controlling me."

She didn't seem to have an answer for that one, he noted with cold satisfaction.

"Go ahead and keep reporting to them," he said. "It doesn't matter."

"Okay."

He'd wanted her to argue with him, but she sounded relieved. Well, it was tough facing down the army, and she was weak.

Weak. It wasn't a word he'd applied to her before, but it was true.

He pulled away from her and stood up, turning his back on her.

"You should leave," he said.

"Are you sure?" she asked, confused. She pulled herself to her feet. "I just got here-"

"I don't want you here. Go home." She was making him weak.

"Okay, Emil," she said quietly. She reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder blade, but he pulled away.

"Don't come back until you're healthy enough to fuck," he snapped.

"Coming in sick wasn't my idea, you know," she responded indignantly.

"Well, tell the bastards up top that there's no point sending me a whore who's too sick to fuck."

He heard a sharp gasp from behind him, like an auditory flinch. Both of them stood in silence for a moment. Then the sound of footsteps, fading into the distance, told him that she was gone.

Emil sat on the cold stone floor and resumed staring out into the darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part Two: Six Months**

I'm not exactly a timid person. I used to be, but it's amazing how much braver you get after the first couple of times you do something you don't think you can possibly do. The first time I walked into a hotel room hoping like hell that the man inside just wanted to fuck me, not to arrest me or to murder me, was one of those times for me. The first time I climbed down the ladder into that pit to meet Emil was another.

The second time is always easier. Most people just want you to like them. They want you to like having sex with them, especially. Emil wasn't much different from most clients. Well, other than the part where I had to go into a military base and climb into a giant pit to get to him. And the part where they told me that I shouldn't bother with condoms because his semen would eat right through them, but that it shouldn't hurt me as long as I took the pills they gave me before every session.

And the part where I was making more money from him alone than I had been from all my other clients put together. Okay, and the part where the sex was frankly mind-blowing. I'd also gotten pretty fond of him, over the months that I saw him.

So when they came to me and told me that there was an increased security risk and they were going to move him to Alaska, and that they wanted me to come too, I was torn.

"Aren't there escorts in Alaska?" I asked. This was only a week after I'd had strep throat, and I was still pretty upset about the whole 'whore' thing.

"He's attached to you," said the man who'd told me to call him 'Doc.'

"Are you sure about that? Last time I saw him, he called me a whore and sent me away," I reminded him.

Doc sighed. "Subject A's emotional state is very delicate," he said. He always called Emil that, and pretended not to hear me if I said his name. "Believe me, if it'd been anyone but you, he'd have done worse than just call you a name."

"Right. Because, as you've told me numerous times, he's dangerous." It was hard to believe that emotionally, although I knew it was probably true. Doc's arm was in a sling, and I knew it probably wasn't because of a fall down the stairs, or something. But I'd never seen Emil get violent.

"But not to you, I think."

"You think? That's reassuring." I sighed. "Alaska's awfully far."

"We'd like you to sign a one-year contract. We can re-negotiate after that." He slid a packet of papers towards me, and I thumbed through it, trying not to let my eyes bug out at the numbers. There were some perks to being a part of the military-industrial complex. At this point, though, I wasn't exactly hurting for money.

"A year's too long," I said, and slid the packet back to him. "Four months. Then I'll take a week off to come home, and we'll re-negotiate while I'm here."

He frowned. "We're not flying you back and forth every four months," he said. "We can re-negotiate back in DC, but you need to sign on for a full year."

"So make it six months, and I'll pay for my own flights," I said. I figured I could handle just about anything for six months. "The military can handle giving me a ride to the airport, right?"

He looked cross, which made me smile. Doc seems like an okay guy, but I'm not a big fan of the military in general, or specifically of the group that kept Emil a prisoner. The danger he theoretically posed felt a lot less real to me than the desperate sadness on his face.

"Fine," he agreed. "I'll have a new contract written up and give it to you tomorrow. You'll need to be on-site at 0500 hours. We take off at 0600."

"How are you moving him?" I asked. I didn't really want to have to drive out there at the crack of dawn, but I could tell that this part wasn't negotiable.

"He'll be asleep. That's all I can tell you. We'll want you on the same flight as him."

"Okay, Doc," I said. "How much luggage can I bring?"

"Travel light. Only what you can carry. This isn't a commercial jet we're flying on. There won't be room for much. The base we're relocating to has a store on-site, you can buy anything else you need there."

Great. Well, I'd been the one to say I could deal with anything for six months. Moving to a military base in Alaska would probably be just as manageable as everything else was, in hindsight.

My friends were skeptical when I told them that I was leaving the state the next day to live with a rich client for six months, but I'm pretty particular about only choosing friends who respect my decisions. And when I told them about the guaranteed money, they were happy enough for me. We had an impromptu packing party that evening, and I ended up lending out practically everything I owned.

I also gave my roommates a check that would cover my share of the rent for the next six months. Let me tell you, nothing beats the feeling of handing people you once depended on enough money that they'll have no worries for a while. Nothing else I've ever tried comes close, and I've tried a _lot._

But as everyone else left, with hugs and tears, it started to really sink in how alone I was going to be. The only people I would know at the base would be Doc and Emil, and honestly, I didn't trust either of them. Not really.

Oh, I trusted Doc to come through with the money and all, and I trusted Emil not to...well...I would have said that I trusted him not to call me a whore, up until he did. I wasn't sure how much faith I could put in him not to hurt me any other way, now.

I ended up spending all that night putting books on my ereader and downloading games to my laptop instead of sleeping. Who knew how the internet connection would be up there. God, it would probably be monitored to keep me from leaking state secrets, like the fact that "Subject A" had a nice-sized dick and occasionally enjoyed boob jobs.

That thought occurred to me around 3 in the morning, so I was sleep-deprived enough to find the fact that my actual, literal job was "secret government titfucks" laugh-out-loud hilarious. My life may be weird and, yeah, not the safest, but never in a million years would I trade it for some boring desk job.

I got on the plane with a week's worth of clothes and several months' worth of electronic entertainment. It was a decent-sized plane, and less cramped than Doc had led me to believe, although most of the cabin space was taken up by a dizzying array of machinery attached to an unconscious Emil, nude except for a sheet over his lap.

Doc waved me to a seat near Emil's head. Everyone else was keeping well back, except when they snuck forward to check on one of the machines, or to make sure that the multiple IV lines in him were secure.

They were terrified of him. I could see it in the way they refused to look at him straight on, instead sneaking sidelong glances at irregular intervals. No one spoke, and it didn't seem like tiredness or discipline. Several of them had their hands on sidearms.

I'd planned to sleep on the flight, but the atmosphere was just too tense. You'd think we were transporting a bomb, or something. I was tempted to hold Emil's hand for comfort, even though he was the source of the fear, but I remembered the sound of his voice biting out the word _whore_ and refrained.

Anyway, they'd probably shoot me if it looked like I might wake him up.

After about half an hour of just sitting there watching people look like they'd shoot Emil at any second, I gave up on the idea of sleeping or making conversation and started rummaging in my bag for a book. I'd brought a couple in dead-tree form, partly because I bought them before I knew I'd be flying to Alaska for six months with just two bags, partly because I've always liked the feeling of actual pages in my hand.

I'd just found my place when someone on the plane finally spoke.

"What're you reading?" The speaker was a short black woman in military fatigues, who was standing on the other side of Emil. She had a gun at her side, but unlike most of the others, her hand wasn't on it. Her voice was quiet, but conversational enough.

"Science fiction," I said equally quietly, and showed her the cover.

"Oh, yeah? I'm more a nonfiction person myself," she said. "My name's Carol, by the way."

"Valerie," I said, smiling at her. I held out my hand without thinking, realized that I was reaching right over the unconscious Emil and everyone else on the plane was looking at me like I was juggling dynamite, and pulled it back.

"Right," she said, apparently struggling to pull her eyes off Emil and her hand off her gun. "We know who you are. Not a lot of civilians, where we're going."

"Oh." I'd assumed that the base would have civilian scientists, and families, and that sort of thing. I hadn't thought I'd stick out quite that much. "Well, nice to meet you."

"Likewise. They say you know how to handle A, here." She nodded at Emil. I heard someone elsewhere on the plane snicker.

"Yeah, I guess," I said. I suddenly felt like I had a giant neon sign above my head that said PROSTITUTE. Or, to be honest, probably WHORE.

"Anything that makes him easier to get along with is good with me," Carol said with a smile that was probably supposed to be reassuring.

"Uh, good. Thanks." There didn't really seem to be much else to say.

"I know some of the other females at the base. I'll introduce you when we get there."

"I'd appreciate that."

She nodded, and went back to staring at Emil. I guessed that the conversation was over, and opened my book back up.

I must have drifted off, because the next thing I knew, I started awake with my ears feeling like they were going to explode. Pressure changes always get me like that. The plane was shaking, and everyone looked even more nervous than before. Emil was still fast asleep, though.

Honestly, he looked like he was dead. Even at the best of times, he was pale-skinned, with dark, sunken eyes. Usually, the intensity of his expression and the frankly off-the-charts sexiness of his voice (god, that accent!) more than made up for that, but just now, he looked like a corpse. The machines attached to him were still lighting up and intermittently beeping, though, so presumably he was okay.

"Are we landing?" I asked Carol.

"Yeah. Don't know how you can sleep with…" she trailed off, waving vaguely at Emil.

"Uh, well, all in a day's work," I said, momentarily parsing her statement wrong. When I realized what she'd actually meant, I blushed and added, "I didn't sleep last night. Packing."

She shook her head. I wasn't really sure what that was supposed to convey, so I just turned to hunt for my book on the floor.

When we landed, there was an immediate bustle of activity as people rushed to wheel Emil's bed off the plane. Everyone rushed around like they knew exactly where they were supposed to be, leaving me shivering on the tarmac with no idea what to do or where to go. I tried to get Doc's attention, but he waved me off and went back to directing the activities of the others.

Finally, a soldier who definitely hadn't been on the plane approached me.

"Excuse me, ma'am. Are you Valerie?" he asked, focusing his eyes somewhere over my left shoulder.

"Yes, hi," I said. "Do you know where I'm supposed to go?"

"Follow me, ma'am," he said. He turned on his heel and marched off, not looking to see if I was following. I had to scramble to keep up.

This did not seem like the most auspicious start at my new home.


	5. Chapter 5

My room was small, but comfortable enough. No roommate and an en-suite bathroom. That would have been luxury a couple of years ago, when I was in the dorms at college. No food preparation equipment, though, not even a microwave or a minifridge. I was ravenous.

I tossed my bags on my bed, decided I could unpack later, and ventured out to look for food. My unfriendly guide had disappeared as soon as he showed me my room and handed me my key, so I was on my own. There were no signs or anything. The hallway was pretty much empty.

I decided to just pick a direction and walk. As long as I kept going in the same direction the whole time, I couldn't get lost, right? I'd just turn around and walk right back.

I hadn't gotten far when I heard someone coming from behind me at a dead run. I turned around and saw Doc running towards me, his arm still in a cast, with a pained look on his face.

"Where are you going?" he snapped at me. "We're waking him up in five minutes, and you need to be there! Why weren't you in your room?"

Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed my wrist and started speed-walking down the hall. I tried to pull out of his grasp, but he was strong.

"I was looking for food," I snapped. "No one told me you would need me. Let go of me!"

He turned to me, his eyes wild, and I realized that he wasn't just angry and in pain; he was terrified. With a visible effort, he pulled himself together and let go of my wrist.

"I'll show you where the mess is once you've finished with him," he said. "Sorry for grabbing you. Please come with me _right now_."

I followed him at a trot. I wasn't used to thinking of my work as something that could be urgently needed to prevent an emergency, but apparently it was.

"He doesn't know that we transported him," Doc said as we ran. "I don't think he'll be upset about that, but he may be upset that we knocked him out to transport him without him knowing about it."

"I can see how that could be upsetting."

"There's really not a lot of margin for error with him," Doc snapped.

"I wish you would tell me why everyone's so afraid of him."

Usually, Doc answered my more overt prying by declaring that the subject was classified, but this time he was more forthcoming.

"He needs someone in his life who isn't afraid of him," he said.

"I kind of am, though," I admitted.

"Not as much as you would be."

I didn't have an answer. The completely unknown is scary, but when I was with Emil, some mysterious threat seemed a lot less real than he was. All the cryptic remarks and soldiers clutching their guns couldn't change that.

They did take their toll on my stress levels, though.

Emil's new home was right down the hall from my own. Well, the elevator to his home was. I couldn't tell how far down we went, but when we reached the bottom, we were in another enormous rock cylinder, like the pit he'd been in before. It was already set up as a nice little studio apartment, like his old one had been before something (he?) had trashed it.

"No more ladder," I commented to Doc on the way down. "Nice." He just grimaced and rubbed his injured arm.

Emil was sleeping in a stretcher near the elevator. He wasn't attached to all those machines any more, just a regular-looking IV line. Doc approached cautiously, taking a hypodermic needle out of the pocket of his lab coat and uncapping it.

"I'm going to inject this into his IV," he told me. "Then I'm going to go back up the elevator. He should wake up within five minutes or so. Take as much time with him as you need. There's food in the fridge already. He needs to be ready for testing tomorrow, but you can stay the night if that's what he wants."

I nodded. Doc injected the clear fluid into Emil's IV line, then made a hasty retreat. From the outside, I could tell that the elevator moved at a pretty good clip.

I walked over to where Emil lay comatose. I did feel some apprehension, between the way everyone else had been acting and the way he'd been, frankly, an asshole to me last time I saw him. _There's no point sending me a whore who's too sick to fuck. _

It's not that I'd never claimed the label "whore" for myself. Sometimes as a joke, sometimes as an in-your-face declaration that I do what I do and I'm not ashamed. But it was different, when he said it. When he used it like he had. It hadn't just meant "person who has sex for money"; it meant "person who has sex for money, and is otherwise worthless."

Did he really think I only had value in bed?

I didn't think so. And even if he did, I decided, he'd been nice enough to me other than that one night. And hell, I was here. Might as well hope for the best.

I took his hand, as I'd been tempted to do on the plane. It was cool and dry, and completely limp. I ran my thumb over his palm, partly to soothe, partly for something to do.

After a few minutes, signs of life started. He twitched. His eyelids fluttered. I leaned over, hoping that if he saw me before his unfamiliar surroundings, it would be comforting.

Finally, his eyes opened and he spoke.

"Valerie? Did I fall asleep? I have such a headache..." He blinked, looking confused, and looked around. "Where am I?"

"They moved you, sweetheart," I told him. "You're in your new home, in Alaska."

He stared at me blankly.

"They drugged me," he stated.

"Yeah, they did," I told him. "I guess they were scared to move you otherwise."

He nodded, winced, and put his head back down, closing his eyes. Then he jerked up again.

"Wait-if I'm in Alaska, what are you doing here?"

"I guess they thought you'd miss me," I said, trying to keep my voice neutral. "They paid me to come along."

"Oh." He sighed, closing his eyes again. "No matter what I do, I can't convince them I don't care about you."

"They-" I had to stop and clear my throat. "They can send me home and get someone else, if you'd prefer."

"Darlin', if I really didn't care about you, I wouldn't care whether they thought I cared about you." He coughed. "Can you get me a drink?"

I went over to his fridge and grabbed a bottle of water for him, probably with an idiotic grin on my face. He was sitting up, looking woozy, when I brought it back to him. I kissed his forehead when I handed him the bottle.

"I care about you, too," I whispered.

He gave me an unreadable glance, but didn't answer.

"Hungry?" I asked. "I saw sandwich stuff in your fridge." My stomach rumbled audibly.

"Are they not letting you eat, or something?" he asked, looking amused.

"They wanted me here when you woke up," I explained.

"Thought I'd bring the place down otherwise, eh? Yeah, I'll take a sandwich. Thanks."

I made a couple of ham and cheese sandwiches, and we sat and ate them in silence. A touch of color started to return to Emil's skin as he ate and drank, I was relieved to see.

"They really did a number on you," I commented as I finished mine. He was still slowly chewing.

He snorted. "Waited until I was asleep, then pumped me full of enough tranqs to kill a whale."

"I'm glad you're okay."

"Why?" he asked, looking at me intently.

"Well, otherwise they'd stop paying me," I joked. He kept looking at me in that searching way. "And I do actually like you, when you're not being an asshole."

He smiled slightly at that. "I'm sorry about last time."

I didn't want to say it was fine, because it wasn't, but I did appreciate the apology. I went around behind him and started rubbing his shoulders. He gave a contented sigh.

Emil still had no clothes on, just a sheet over his lap and his plate on the sheet. His back was unsettling before I'd gotten used to it, with the knobby bones of his spine protruding unnaturally, but his shoulders were smooth-skinned and muscular. I bent to kiss the back of his neck, and breathed in the strange, spicy smell of him. I was used to it now, the way he smelled like the charge in still air before a thunderstorm, mixed with the more familiar smell of naked man. It made my skin tingle with memories of other times we'd spent together.

His breath hitched when I nuzzled at the nape of his neck, and I smiled against his skin. I moved closer, pressing against his back, and started working my hands from his shoulders down to his chest, still massaging. He leaned his head back against me, his eyes closed in contentment.

I started to tease, brushing one of my hands against a nipple as if by accident, sliding the other further down his torso to his lower stomach. His face changed, taking on a look of great concentration, brow furrowed, lips slightly parted.

"You need to relax," I whispered to him, taking the plate off his lap. "Let me help."

"Wow," Emil sighed when it was over. I smiled up at him, wiping saliva and semen off my lips. "You are bloody good at that."

"So you've said," I reminded him.

"Well, it's still true."

I got to my feet and went over to the sink to rinse my mouth out. There was a handy bottle of mouthwash, and I wondered whether whoever had set up this room had intended it for this purpose. It was always weird to remember that we were being watched, and not even for voyeuristic purposes.

"Do you think any of them get off to this?" I asked Emil, walking back over.

"Any of what?"

"The people on the other end of the cameras. I was just wondering whether it's hot for them, or embarrassing, or just another day at work, or what."

Emil winced. "Ugh, don't remind me of them. I was trying to enjoy my afterglow."

"Oh. Sorry." I sat next to him, and he pulled me into an embrace.

"How long can you stay?" he asked, his face muffled against my shoulder.

"They said I could spend the night, if you want," I told him. "No tests until tomorrow."

"Do you want to?"

"Yeah, sure. But I'll warn you, I snore."

"I'm sure I've slept through worse," he said.

"Well, don't say I didn't warn you."

We spent a few hours looking around at his new place, and then watched an enjoyably mindless action movie on the couch. It felt better than it probably should have, not having a strict time limit. The idea that something terrifying lurked inside the man I was curled up next to seemed absurd.

If he'd been a regular client, I would have started thinking about trying to change the relationship into something more a long time ago. Not a lot of my clients have reached the coveted status of person I spend time with for free, but he would have. By now, I would probably have introduced him to my friends. Maybe we'd even be "official," although I wouldn't have quit my job for him or anything. A girl's gotta eat. But maybe he would have understood that.

It wasn't a good daydream to have. Nothing could come of it. I was working for the army, not for him, and they were the ones dictating the terms of our relationship.

Also, he was stuck in the bottom of a hole in a secret military base in Alaska. There were some pretty hard limitations on our involvement.

An enormous explosion on the screen interrupted my musing. The protagonist walked away from it in slow motion, of course.

"I always wonder what's going through the characters' heads at a time like this," I commented to Emil. "Do you think they're thinking 'Gotta look cool, don't look back, don't blow this...'"

"Probably more like 'If I turn around, everyone will be able to see that I shat my pants,'" Emil suggested.

"Good thing this movie isn't in smellovision. I don't mind looking at the guy, but I'd hate to smell that."

"Oh?" Emil asked, mock-indignant. "You're supposed to be not minding looking at me!"

"I have two eyes," I said. "I can not mind looking at two people at once. And don't pretend like you minded looking at whatsherface earlier. Titsy McBlonde."

"I didn't exactly mind, but there's a lot to be said for character. And proximity." He shifted his hand off my shoulder to give my chest a squeeze, and I laughed.

"I knew there was something you saw in me," I teased.

"You mean other than my dick?"

I laughed, and went to hit him on the shoulder. He grabbed my wrist before I could, and planted a kiss on me that made me forget all about the movie...until he pulled away to look back at the screen, where the antagonist was giving some sort of melodramatic speech.

"I always root for the bad guy," he confessed.

"Me too. The good guy's always so boring."

"Ah, see, that must be what I see in you."

"Really? I was about to say that's what I see in you," I told him. "You have a certain bad-guy-ish allure."

"That's just your Yankness talking," he sniffed.

"Ooh, British _and_ condescending. Now I really see it."

We kissed and laughed our way through the rest of the movie like high schoolers on a date to the mall theater, then headed to bed together. His hands on me were less frantic than usual, his kisses less rushed. Normally I liked the urgency, but this time he took me with aching slowness, and I wasn't about to complain.

I had expected to fall asleep before Emil did. He had been asleep all day, and I usually fall asleep easily when I have someone else in bed with me. I guess drugged sleep wasn't actually particularly restful, though, because he nodded off long before I could.

I luxuriated in the feeling of lying there with my head on his chest, warm and well-fucked. His face was peaceful in sleep. Somehow, he looked different now than he had when he was unconscious on the plane. Softer, maybe. Certainly less corpse-like.

I wished that I knew what he was hiding. I felt like Psyche bending over the sleeping Eros, tempting fate.

Well, Emil knew that he could tell me if he wanted. That was the best place to leave it. I wrapped myself around him and tried to sleep.


End file.
